Breakfast
by madame.alexandra
Summary: He asked, "What's for breakfast?" and she said, "Me." Han/Leia.


_a/n: posted this on tumblr to cheer some people up. figured, might as well post it here "officially" too, huh?_

* * *

 ** _Breakfast_**

* * *

Han woke up late. He could tell it was late – _easily_ a late morning; the sun wasn't just inching around the curtains, it was blistering through it, hot, and no doubt high in the sky, and he blinked lazily, lifting his head and reaching up to rub one of his eyes – he felt drowsy, and a little disoriented, the common feeling that accompanied one of those days when no alarm clock burst into his early morning slumber to drag him out of bed, and no work awaited him –

He turned his head, stifling a yawn – leave days, damn they were satisfying; they were the best damn thing in the galaxy when he and Leia's happened to fall on the same day, and he lay back down flat on his stomach, hazily reaching for her –

 _No Leia_ ; empty mess of sheets, cool pillow – he was alone, and he blinked his eyes back open, affronted. He frowned groggily – damn woman; where was her sense of tradition? He'd made it abundantly clear that he liked waking up next to her on those days when neither of them had to be at work –

" _Clingy,"_ she'd called him, a teasing wrinkle in her temple, lips turned up as she cut up a pear for breakfast, pausing to suck the juice off of her thumb.

He'd come up behind her, sliding his hands under the hem of her robe.

" _It'll be worth your while to hang around, Sweetheart,"_ he'd promised, nipping at her thumb.

" _Needy,"_ she'd sang, turning to kiss his neck affectionately. _"Sap!"_

Han rolled over onto his back, rubbing his jaw. He gave a more pronounced yawn, and furrowed his brow, wondering if she'd been called away. He listened for noises around the apartment – was she showering; was the holo on? Nothing alerted him – save for a small humming noise in the kitchen; ah, then: kaffe maker.

Ah, so she _was_ here.

He got up, rubbing his hand through his hair, fingers catching on knots. He grit his teeth and dragged the knots out carelessly, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. He ran his palm over his jaw, tracing his thumb around the edge of prickly, unshaven shadow, and flicked his palm against a pad near the window, bringing open the curtain, flooding the bedroom with blinding sunlight –

He left, wandered through the halls.

"Leia?" he asked the morning silence.

He didn't exactly hear an answer, but somehow, he knew anyway that she was in the kitchen, and that's where he went – in that sleepy way, with a half-hearted trajectory that left him sort of leaning into the wall as he turned the corner, still yawning, rubbing a sore muscle in his shoulder –

and she was standing there, kaffe mug next to her, steam rising from it aromatically, waiting, eyes fixed on the door so they'd catch him when he walked in.

He leaned against the doorway, hand against his shoulder lamely.

"Leia," he managed, his voice hushed.

It was the only thing he managed to get out before his jaw dropped – in a realistic sense, rather than a cartoonish display; he stared at her, lips parted, eyes transfixed and chest aching, shivers running violently down his spine in a brutally delicious shock –

She leaned back against the counter in a pose that seemed as effortless as it did carefully rehearsed, her head tilted at him fetchingly. She was – she was –

"Were you wearing that to bed?" he asked hoarsely – but of course she wasn't; he'd seen her, he'd have noticed, and he'd have appreciated it briefly and had it on the floor in milliseconds, which was what he was about to do now –

She was barefoot and barely dressed, red-lipped and wearing white lingerie with gold stitching, the most innocently salacious thing he'd ever seen – lace, made to perfectly accentuate everything, from the colour of her skin, to the hue of her hair, right down to the perfect curves of her breasts and hips – bare stomach, bare shoulders, bare thighs – barely covered nipples, obscured with delicate ribbons of fabric

She pointed one of her feet, shaking her head slightly, inclining it with a small smirk.

Han let his hand slide off the wall and walked forward, reaching for her hips. He pressed his fingertips into her skin, raking his eyes over her.

"What is this?" he asked reverently. "What's going on?"

What was the occasion, what was – had he forgotten something; had he missed something? For Sith's sake, there was – he couldn't actually just be this god-damned lucky, to have a woman who –

"No occasion," Leia murmured silkily, brushing her knuckles along his shoulder and then tapping his jaw affectionately. "I thought you'd like it."

He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"Do you?" Leia asked, feigning uncertainty.

He made the noise again, nodding.

Leia slid one hand along the counter.

"I considered making you breakfast in this," she sad seriously, "like a good wife."

Han laughed a little, tilting his head at her.

"You can't cook," he reminded her.

Leia nodded, curling her hand around the kaffe mug and picking it up. She leaned back from him and held it to her lips, looking at him over the rim of it.

"A significant flaw in my plan," she murmured. "So, I thought I might stand here and wait."

Han ran his hand over her stomach and up to her chest, brushing his fingers in short strokes up to her throat, and then back down between her breasts.

"Hmm, wait for me to cook?" he asked distractedly.

Leia shook her head, glancing at him through her lashes.

"Wait until you're starving," she retorted.

"Yeah? Then what? What's for breakfast, Princess?"

"Me."

Han closed his eyes for a moment. He licked his lips, and then gently took the hot kaffe from her and set it aside – very far aside, stepping closer and pressing her back into the counter. He stood there a moment, thinking about her, and then placed his hands on her waist and boosted her up in front of him.

He pushed one of her knees up until her foot was perched near his hip, braced on the edge of the counter.

"Oh, in the kitchen?" she asked, losing her breath a little – she reclined back on her elbows, dipped her head back, and closed her eyes as Han's lips touched her knee reverently.

"I'll clean the counter," he promised, sliding his hand up her thigh and slipping his fingers under her white lace.

Leia wrapped her other leg around his, tapping her foot against the back of his thigh. She put an arm behind her head and used it as a pillow languidly; fine, she liked this kitchen counter almost as much as she liked their bed.

"Filthy," she accused in a low voice, closing her eyes in anticipation.

Han paused, pressing his fingers against her teasingly; reached with his other hand to take the coffee, grab a drink, blink himself more fully awake – she shifted her head.

"Han," she protested, puckering her lips.

"Needy," he accused smoothly.

She rolled her head to the side, clutching at his wrist lightly.

"Cling-yyyy," he accused, setting aside the coffee.

"You're next," she promised, coaxing him to hurry up; _get to work._

"Right," he agreed hoarsely, and bent to kiss her knee again, and then dipped his head between her legs to get under all that white lace.

* * *

 _story #324_

 _-Alexandra_


End file.
